


Ducky Shincracker

by wttlpwrites



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, POV Third Person, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), everything else is in third, the dreams are in second person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:24:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wttlpwrites/pseuds/wttlpwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>̶B̶u̶c̶k̶y̶ ̶B̶a̶r̶n̶e̶s̶ Jamie Proctor is a one-armed, nightmare-ridden veteran who's lost all his memories. The doctors and his psychologist (a beautiful redhead and the star of his dreams, but not in any way he'd like) told him it was some form of defense mechanism that his brain pulled last minute. Jamie thinks there's something missing.</p>
<p>This is not an AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ducky Shincracker

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think of it! I had a lot of fun writing this one.

_ You’re in a restaurant in Europe somewhere- a small suburb in Germany, you think. You’re not sure, because the restaurant looks more American than anything, except you’ve never been to America. (You’ve never been to America?) _

 

_ You’re seated with two others. You’re not sure who they are, but they feel important. One of them, a man with cropped blond hair and wrinkles in his steely face, gives you a sense of fear. The other, a slight woman with shiny red hair, she makes you feel proud. You also feel a little protective, and a little- guilty? _

 

_ The man is talking to someone on a cellphone, and you hear only some of his words.  _

 

_ The man turns to you and asks you why you killed Natalia. Your arm is raising, and you don’t mean for it to, but your arm is raising and you bring up the gun and you shoot the woman and- _

 

_ she smiles at you, and shivers away like the screen of a movie flipping to black. _

 

***

 

Jamie wakes up with a start, and looks to the clock next to his bed. It’s only seven thirty, and he doesn’t think he’s getting back to sleep anytime soon. The nightmares he’s been having are so strange, and so very  _ very _ terrifying. He doesn’t even know why, because none of it is particularly scary, but the feelings in his chest during these nightmares are dark and ugly and piercing. 

 

Jamie rolls out of bed and picks up a t-shirt, putting it on with only a little bit of struggle. Jesus, the woman in the tutorial video had made dressing with one arm look so easy. But, he’s getting better. Almost two months have passed since he woke up in a hospital with zip in his head telling him who to be or who he’d been. All he had was a missing left arm and a whole gaggle of people that were all too eager to answer his questions.

 

He’s getting better. 

 

Starting just recently, though, he’s got this feeling. He thinks he’s missing something, something big. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something he’s forgetting.

 

Which is, of course, a stupid thing to say. Jamie’s forgetting  _ everything _ . But this one thing, this feels like something he should know anyway. But he doesn’t. And it’s bothering him. 

 

***

 

Nadine is adjusting her glasses. Her turtleneck is tight-fitting but business-like, and her short red hair is spiked up a bit in the front. 

 

“Ms. Roman, looking beautiful as always,” Jamie says with a cheeky smirk. His shrink smiles drily and gestures for him to take a seat on the chair opposite of her.

 

“I know you only call me that to get on my nerves,” she says, voice smooth and eyebrow quirked. Jamie just smiles and plops down. “How is everything?” Nadine asks, as she does every session.

 

“Pretty good.” A beat of silence. “You were in my dreams again,” he says, trying to cover his creeping fear by making his comment sound flirtatious. He doesn’t think it’s working so well, because Ms. Roman is very good at reading people. 

 

“Oh?” Nadine says, sitting back and folding her hands together. “What was the dream about?”

 

Jamie shrugs a little and tries to deflect. “I sent in applications to a couple grocery stores near me.”

 

“Jamie,” Nadine cautions. “I’m very proud that you did that, but I think you want to talk about your dream.”

 

Jamie sighs, and looks away a little, twitchy. “Your name was Natalia, I think, and your hair was longer. You were dressed like a ballerina.” 

 

Ms. Roman nods and waits for him to go on. 

 

“I shot you. But I didn’t mean to, I  _ swear  _ I really didn’t mean to, really I wouldn’t ever-” his words are rushed and frantic, desperate. He’s searching for forgiveness and he doesn’t even know why, because it was just a dream-

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Jamie. It’s alright, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Nadine leans over and shows her intentions before softly taking hold of his hand. “It’s alright, you did nothing wrong.” 

 

The file on her lap, along with the notepad she jots things down on during their sessions, is visible.  _ James Proctor _ is written at the top of both, and it feels wrong. The door to this office says  _ Nadine Roman _ , and that feels wrong. Both of the names feel familiar, at most, but it’s like looking into a picture that’s been edited over thirty times, flipped and colored and photoshopped. 

 

He’s missing something.

 

***

 

Nick Fury sits at a desk. It isn’t as big as the one at SHIELD used to be, and it isn’t as fancy. Nick misses the menace the old desk used to portray. But really, the menace of all things SHIELD is the reason it’s gone now, with only scraps left over. All of it gives Fury a headache. 

 

In through the door walks a large portion of his headache, taking a seat and crossing her legs. 

 

“The dreams are getting more specific,” Natasha says, looking at Nick with eyes that remind him   _ exactly  _ what her feelings are on the subject of Jamie Proctor. “James knows something is wrong, and the only reason he hasn’t outright asked is because of-”

 

“Listen, Romanoff. We can’t tell him, and you know that. It would be too much of a risk-”

 

“This isn’t about James, and you know it, Nick. You only want to keep him in the dark so that it keeps Rogers quiet, but it’s not like Steve’s in any position to stand up to anyone right now.”

 

Somehow, they’ve both risen from their seats, and they stand facing each other with their hands splayed out on the desk. They’re glaring, each too stubborn to give anything up.

 

“You will continue to be Nadine Roman. You will continue to placate Barnes until he’s absolutely  _ certain _ he is James Proctor. And you will follow my orders because while I may not be director of SHIELD anymore, I’m the director of whatever we’ve pulled together in its wake.”

 

Natasha straightens her posture and glares. Without another word (and somehow that exudes more judgment than had she said something), she turns around and calmly walks out of the office. Nick sighs and rests down into his chair. 

 

He can’t have Barnes knowing. 

 

***

 

_ It’s 1932 and you’re in the classroom. The teacher is standing at the blackboard and everything around you looks dusty and yellow. There’s a boy next to you, and he’s giggling at something you’ve said. There’s a rope tied around and around his chest, it’s always been there (but you’ve seen him breathe easy, later, haven’t you?), and he won’t stop laughing.  _

 

_ He’s gonna get in trouble with the teacher, you think. You kind of wish you hadn’t said whatever it was that got him laughing so hard, but you also think the trouble is worth seeing his sunshine smile. _

 

_ The teacher is going to walk over to you two any minute, any minute, any minute- _

 

_ The boy next to you has an awful black eye, somebody’s hit him over and over and over, his whole face is mottled blue and purple. He’s still laughing.  _

 

_ The rope around him tightens as he laughs and asks you why you killed Natalia. _

 

***

 

“There was a little boy,” Jamie says. “His face was all beat up, and-” he stops. “I think. I think I did it.” Ms. Roman is quiet.

 

“You know it isn’t real,” she tells him. “It’s just a dream.” It looks like her eyes are trying to convince him of something, trying to tell him something, something he’s missing-

 

“It was just a dream, I know,” Jamie nods, and shakes his head a little as if to clear it. He coughs a little. “I haven’t heard back from the grocery stores yet.”

 

***

 

James Proctor. It just doesn’t...  _ fit _ . But why would anyone lie to him? He’s just a normal guy, a vet who came back from Afghanistan. 

 

But, that doesn’t sound right either. The vet thing, maybe, but he doesn’t think he was ever in Afghanistan. Or... maybe he was...? 

 

None of it fits right. But none of it fits  _ wrong _ , either, and that’s the worst part. It’s all so confusing and really, Jamie doesn’t want to just sit here in his tiny apartment in DC with no job and no friends and  _ nothing _ except Ms. Roman and maybe the corner store owner’s dog. 

 

He thinks he might go to the corner store and pet the dog. 

 

***

 

The dog’s name is Ruth. She’s big and fluffy as hell. Jamie likes petting her, and the owner of both the dog and the store is kind. She lets Jamie come see Ruth whenever the store is open- her name is Pamela and she’s kind of old but Jamie likes old people, he thinks. 

 

It’s quiet in the store, one kid skimming the aisles and Pamela in a seat behind the counter and Jamie sitting next to the counter on the floor, Ruth in his lap. The bell over the door jingles and it’s a couple of teenage girls. 

 

“Those girls have come in almost every day since they saw you here a week ago,” Pamela mutters quietly to Jamie with a secret smile. “Your devilish looks are getting me some good business.”

 

Jamie laughs a little and Ruth looks up in disinterest. 

 

“Oh, by the way, sugar. A nice lady came in with some flyers for a local play, told me to give them out to some customers. You want one?” Pamela hands him a sheet of paper. It’s called  _ Dead Hoofer _ and it’s supposed to be set in the forties. “Dead hoofer was an old phrase for-”

 

“Bad dancer,” Jamie says, and immediately feels bad for interrupting. “Sorry, Ms. Pamela, I just.” He stops. “Thank you for this. Whaddya say to seeing the show with me?”

 

Pamela laughs. “Oh, sugar, you’re just too sweet.”

 

***

 

_ You’re in a diner, somewhere in America, maybe. You’re looking at the menu and you can’t afford anything. You don’t know why you’re here, you can’t afford any of it.  _

 

_ You can’t lift your head up, it’s too heavy. _

 

_ Mrs. Rogers is there and she’s coughing up a storm. There’s a little girl in the booth next to you, with bouncing red curls and knives in her smiles. She asks you if you’ll take her to the restroom, and you stand but you still can’t lift your head up. You take her hand, but you don’t think she’s safe with you. You don’t think anyone is safe with you.  _

 

_ In the restroom as she’s drying her hands, she asks you why you killed Natalia.  _

 

_ You need her to forgive you.  _

 

***

 

Jamie wakes up with breaths that are too fast and tears drying on his face.

 

***

 

The play isn’t very good. Jamie ends up asking Ms. Roman to come along too, and so he walks into the tiny theater with Nadine and Pamela. 

 

While it isn’t very good, it feels like the actors are tugging at his heart, like they’re trying to tell him something. The protagonist is a young man trying to get by in wartime, while simultaneously trying to woo a young lady.

 

It’s funny, because Jamie thinks that this story fits better than the name James Proctor. It fits better than a vet who got back from the US military. 

 

And just the fact that he’s thinking that makes Jamie feel like he’s losing his mind.

 

***

 

“Did I have a girlfriend?” Jamie asks. Nadine pauses in her writing.

 

He knows that Ms. Roman was his psychologist before he lost his memories, too. She told him, right when he’d woken up, that he had been discharged a month beforehand, and that she and the doctors thought his memory loss was his brain basically deciding everything was too much. So it’s been almost three months that this lady’s known him, and she should be answering faster.

 

“Well? Did I?”

 

Nadine looks up with a little furrow between her brows. “No, Jamie, you didn’t. Not as far as I know. What made you think so?”

 

“That play...” Jamie stops. “Nothing. It’s stupid.” Ms. Roman narrows her eyes a little.

 

“Nothing you feel is stupid. There’s no smart way to feel things, no right way to deal with everything. Your feelings are valid, no matter how silly you may find them.”

 

“Maybe. I dunno.” There’s something missing, here. 

 

***

 

Natasha’s tired of this scene. The heart monitor beeping steadily. The entire room bright white, pristine. 

 

Steve still looks kinda dead, just like he did right after the fight. 

 

Natasha sighs and grabs Steve’s hand. “You gotta wake up, Cap. Your boy’s not doing so well, he needs the truth. You gotta shake some sense into Fury.”

 

The facility isn’t so much a hospital as it is a secretive base for undercover operations. Of course, whatever’s remaining of SHIELD still has enough resources to pull together a nice team of doctors and the right equipment, but it all makes Natasha mad.

 

Steve deserves better than this, after all he’s done for his country and the world. He deserves better than to be hidden away like some scandal, like a dirty secret. After all he went through to get his best friend back, he should have more than this.

 

But instead he’s stuck in a coma, and he’s been put there by Bucky, because Bucky didn’t know any better and now he doesn’t know anything at all.

 

***

 

_ You’re in the diner again. You’re waiting for someone, or something. You don’t know what yet. The waitress keeps giving you menus, but you still can’t afford anything. How’re you supposed to buy this stuff when you still need to make rent this month? Poor Stevie’s gonna freeze to death. (You don’t know anybody named Stevie.) _

 

_ There’s a slight blond boy leaning in the threshold of the diner. He’s smiling softly at you and he asks you why you’ve been having so many nightmares lately. _

 

_ You think you love him, or you loved him, or something like that. He’s important. You can’t let go of him, not again- _

 

_ He asks you why you killed Natalia. _

 

***

 

James is agitated, Natasha can tell. He’s getting more suspicious of the story he was given, and more suspicious of Nadine Roman. He’s started sharing less, especially about his dreams, and Natasha is worried. This is all gonna blow up in their faces, she just knows it.

 

Why Fury wouldn’t listen to her, she doesn’t know. Steve’s gonna wake up at some point, and then it’s all over. The government is planning something, she thinks. Something big, and Fury knows about it but he doesn’t think Steve’s gonna like it, and he thinks Steve will like it even less if it applies to Bucky, too. 

 

Natasha isn’t sure what it is yet, but she knows that whatever it is, it won’t be pretty.

 

***

 

Jamie is sitting in the corner store, petting Ruth and talking with Pamela. She’s laughing about something he said having to do with the play, and Jamie is smiling because he likes making other people happy.

 

“You’re such a card, James,” Pamela sighs happily, and something in James clicks. 

 

“I like it when people call me James,” he says to Pamela softly, and the old lady smiles.

 

James still isn’t quite the right name, he thinks, but it’s less wrong than Jamie. It’s getting there. He doesn’t know why anybody was calling him Jamie in the first place. It doesn’t sound like something he ever would have enjoyed. 

 

He’s going to ask Nadine about where the name Jamie came from.

 

***

 

_ Stevie. The blond boy is Steve. He’s so small, but he’s so strong. You wish everybody else could see how strong he is. They don’t, though. _

 

_ They only want to push him down, but you won’t let them. You’ll protect him, you will. You won’t let him go, not after everything- _

 

_ Not after everything.  _

 

_ Steve lifts his hand to your face and smiles sadly. “With you til the end of the line, pal,” he says. There are bruises blooming on his face. _

 

_ “I’m not gonna fight you, Bucky, you’re my friend.” _

 

_ (Who the hell is Bucky?) _

 

_ “You’ve known me your whole life.” _

 

_ “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” The bruises on his face seem lesser, somehow, like you’re watching it happen in reverse. _

 

_ “You don’t have to do this, Buck, c’mon.” _

 

_ You try and squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you’re standing in the street, the sun making you squint. You’re not used to the brightness. There’s wreckage everywhere, and people screaming. _

 

_ Steve’s face has some dirt on it, but it’s clear of bruises. He looks stricken, shocked, scared, heartbroken. _

 

_ “Bucky?” _

 

***

 

Bucky wakes up with a start, hyperventilating. He’s Bucky, he’s Bucky Barnes, he’s Bucky and he’s done the unthinkable, he’s hurt Steve, he’s hurt so many people, oh  _ god _ , where’s Steve, where is Steve-

 

He tumbles off of the bed with a shout, and then he blacks out.

 

***

 

Natasha knew it, she just knew it. The bugs they’d put in James’ apartment are picking up on heart rates and brain activity that are enough to send a team over.

 

Natasha knew this wouldn’t end well, and it hasn’t.

 

She’s almost there, though, and she’ll help. She’s done playing Fury’s games and she’s going to tell Bucky everything. She knows what it’s like to be lied to over and over, and she won’t let it happen anymore to him. 

 

When the team gets to the apartment, Natasha tells everyone to wait outside. They’re all just goons, nobody else that has a real personal connection with either Steve or Bucky. Sam’s been staying with Steve for almost the whole time since after the fiasco of finding Bucky, and the rest of the Avengers aren’t as close.

 

So Natasha goes in alone, walking up the building’s steps and using the extra key she has to get in. (James didn’t give her the key. Fury did.)

 

James is lying on the floor next to his bed, shaking with eyes glazed over. He looks unaware of anything around him, and Natasha proceeds with caution.

 

“James. Can you hear-”

 

“Natalia.” The mutter is low and almost a growl. James’ eyes are still glazed over. “Natalia.” It sounds scared, broken. “They told me I killed you, they told me I disobeyed orders and you ended up dead, they told me you were dead, I did this to you,  _ I killed you, why did I kill you- _ ”

 

“James! James, it’s alright. I’m here, I’m alive, you didn’t kill me. I’m here, I’m fine. You’re fine, you’re going to be fine.”

 

“My name is Bucky, my name is Bucky, please-”

 

“Okay, Bucky, okay. It’s alright, you’re going to be alright. I’m sorry we lied to you, I’m sorry we kept this from you.” Natasha kneels down and tries to look as nonthreatening as possible. Bucky is crying, there are silent tears rolling down his face, and his eyes still aren’t focused on anything.

 

“I hurt Steve, I hurt him so bad, where is he, I need to tell him I’m sorry, I need him,” his voice is strained and desperate.

 

“I can take you to Steve. I can take you to him. I just need you to calm down for me. Can you do that, Bucky? Can you take some deeper breaths? Look at me.” Bucky’s eyes flickered and tried to adjust, and Natasha didn’t say anything until he was looking straight at her. “Good. Take some deeper breaths, now. Good...”

 

***

 

They’re taking a taxi. It’s quiet inside, and Bucky is still shaking. 

 

“Natalia?” He asks softly. She turns her head to look at him with a blank, but not menacing, expression. It looks inviting, or as inviting as an assassin’s face can be. “How come you aren’t dead?” 

 

“You never hurt me, Bucky. From what I can tell, they made you think you did, in order to keep you in line. You never hurt me, Bucky.”

 

“I didn’t kill you,” he says in awe. “I didn’t-” he sobs “I didn’t kill you?”

 

Natasha doesn’t reply sarcastically. She knows what it’s like for the truth to be hidden so far back in your head that it feels like a lie. For the lie to be shoved into your brain so thoroughly that the only thing to do is accept it. So instead, she puts a hand on his shaking shoulder.

 

“I’m right here, Bucky. I’m okay, you didn’t kill me.” 

 

It’s difficult, with everything running around in his head like it’s all a race, and first place goes to whichever memory hurts Bucky the most. It’s all coming back to him, and it’s fucking brutal. 

 

He remembers before the war-

 

_ You’re almost eight whole years old and you’ve got the big kid thing under control. Your mama taught you well and so you know that when you see the older boys picking on that little kid, that you gotta step in, and so you do, and you walk outta the fight with some scraped knuckles and a brand new best friend. _

 

_ You know by now how to help Steve get his breathing under control. You do it just like Mrs. Rogers said, and you put his hand on your chest to help him get the rhythm right again.  _

 

_ Stevie ain’t walkin’ away clean from this fight. This one is in his head, and it’s been there ever since his ma died and you ain’t enough to fight this one for him. You offer him a place to stay and you offer him your heart and you offer him the world, or at least any of it that’s yours. _

 

He remembers the first bit of the war-

 

_ You don’t know how you climbed up the ranks, you don’t know how you got into this, you don’t know how the whole country decided to be here in the first place. You’ve been pushed and shoved into any direction they want you to go, and you’ve done good by them. But you haven’t done good by Stevie, ‘cause he’s home and there’s no one there to help him breathe right, not like you do. _

 

_ You think that the war’s kind of like dancing, that maybe the front lines are just like the wooden floorboards in your favorite dance hall, that maybe the Nazis will end up all being dead hoofers and you’ll get to go home to Steve, just like after a night of dancing with dames that never, not once, compared to your boy at home. _

 

_ Your unit’s been captured and now you know, you just know, you’ll never see your Stevie again. You watch and listen from your cell and you hear your men crying and dying and there ain’t nothin’ you can do to stop it, nothing you can do to help them. You watch as some of the men get taken away, to the tables, and those ones never come back.  _

 

_ You’re just like them and you never come back, not like how you were. _

 

He remembers the Howling Commandos- 

 

_ You’re broken. You’re damaged goods and you don’t know why anyone would want you, let alone this Adonis calling himself Steve. Your Stevie? It is your Stevie? Or is it an imposter? You’re not sure, but you think that maybe if you fight hard enough alongside him, you might finagle yourself into something worthy of his light. But then, were you ever worthy of Steve? _

 

_ This team of yours, they’re good men. They watch your back, and you watch theirs, and you’re all something like family. You know that Gabe’s got a sweetheart at home, and that Dum-Dum’s married with a kid, and that Falsworth and Morita both have parents, and Dernier’s got a son he’s worrying over. They’ve all got family back home, and that’s the only thing keeping you from fully understanding them. Because while they’ve got their hearts waitin’ on their safe return, your heart’s right there with you, and you’re waitin’ on the day he doesn’t get back to base. _

 

_ You think it’s worth it, while you’re falling. You think it’s worth the fall because you got to protect Steve in his battles. You only regret not being able to protect him further, not being able to be there for him for the rest of the war, not being able to hold him anymore (but it’s not like you could do that very well anyway with his new muscles). You’re screaming but you don’t know it, because the inside of your head is calm. _

 

He remembers, oh god, he remembers being the Asset-

 

_ You’re a machine. You’re cold and metal, and each of your limbs is nothing but a feature intended to aid you in your missions. You are what your handler tells you to be, you are nothing but a machine, crafted for killing.  _

 

_ Sometimes, it bothers you. It bothers you that you can see the moment when they start to fear you, and that you can see the fear leach out of their eyes, just like the blood that seeps out of your hands and gets matted in your hair. It bothers you, but only sometimes, because then you remember that you are a machine. _

 

_ They tell you that you’re the reason Natalia’s dead, that you’re the reason all of them are dead. They ask you why you killed her, tell you this is what happens when you stray from their orders. They tell you it’s your fault, but that you can fix it if you just help them for a little while longer. Your work will change the world. _

 

He remembers it all. 

 

He can see which of his dreams as Jamie Proctor had been based in fact, recognizes how the nightmares had twisted his forgotten memories into metaphors and stories. He remembers that last fight with Steve-

 

“Is he dead?” Bucky asks quietly. His face is carefully blank, but the underlying tension is obvious. “Natalia?”

 

“He’s not dead, Bucky, but he’s pretty messed up.”

 

“Has he asked for me? Is he angry at me? God, I’d deserve it-”

 

“ _ Bucky. _ I’m sure he would never be angry at you. He would never hold it against you, he’d never hold anything you did under their control against you.” Natasha waits for the next question.

 

“Why aren’t you saying he  _ doesn’t _ hold it against me? That he  _ isn’t  _ angry? Your words are- they’re only saying what you think, like you don’t  _ know _ -”

 

“I don’t know what he’s thinking right now. No one does.” Natasha wants to break it to him slowly, because while she knows that it must be frustrating for him, she’s being selfish. She doesn’t want to have to tell him.

 

“Why? What’s wrong with him? You said he wasn’t dead!” Bucky’s nearly hyperventilating again, he’s scared and frustrated and he’s still dealing with the memories in his head.

 

“He’s in a coma, Barnes. Doctors don’t know when he’ll wake up.” The “if he ever will” goes unspoken, but it’s the loudest thing heard the whole ride. 

 

***

 

Barnes is sitting next to Steve’s bed, stony-faced and unmoving, gripping the Captain’s limp hand. The walls are still pristine in that room, Natasha notes, but it’s heavier.

 

“I didn’t want Barnes to know anything,” Nick steams, glaring. Natasha rolls her eyes from her position next to him, showing her irritation. They’re watching Bucky keep guard over Steve through the window that acts as a wall between Steve’s room and the rest of the base. It reminds Natasha of watching Fury’s surgery after he’d been shot by the Winter Soldier, and it’s even involving the same people. Natasha is the only one whose position hasn’t been adjusted.

 

“You didn’t want Steve to have him as a resource when he wakes up,” she says angrily.

 

“I was protecting them. Both of them. I didn’t want Barnes to know.”

 

“I think your position on that matter is fairly obvious at this point, Nick,” and her anger is the smoothest, most dangerous kind.

 

“I was keeping him safe!” Fury roars, his hold on his temper failing. “If he had been kept in the dark,  _ like I’d asked _ , then he would have been  _ safe. _ The government would have had no interest in Jamie Proctor the veteran, but they sure as hell will have an interest in the Winter Soldier!” 

 

Natasha processes the new information as quickly as possible. “What’s coming, Nick? What’s the government planning that you’re so afraid of?” She knows there’s only a small chance of her tactics working on somebody that knows her as well as he does, but she’s hoping his want for proving he was right will outweigh whatever secrets he’s holding.

 

“The Superhuman Registration Act,” Nick says quietly, and Natasha falls silent.

 

***

 

_ You’re laying down. This is a dream. It’s all been a dream. You don’t know when it started, but it’s ending soon and it’ll all be okay. You’re looking straight ahead, and there’s a blond man there who’s built like a god. He smirks and winks at you, and then he shivers away, like the screen of a movie flipping to black. _

 

***

 

Bucky wakes up silently, merely opening his eyes and focusing in on his surroundings. He kind of misses waking up as Jamie Proctor, but he doesn’t miss the feeling of Steve being carved out of his head, carved out of his heart. That’s a feeling he never wants to experience again, if he lives another century.

 

Natalia (Natasha, she had said, most people call her Natasha) is standing on the other side of Steve’s bed, arms crossed and gaze focused. She’s thinking, hard, about something.

 

“It’s not over, Bucko,” she says drily, and a tingling feeling akin to panic races up his spine. He’s about to ask her what she means, what could possibly be next, when-

 

***

 

_ Steve’s been dreaming in black and white. He’s roaming a field, grey daisies and a charcoal sun. The blades of grass are tickling his hand, and he feels something coming. There’s an axe buried in my shoulder, he thinks. There’s an axe buried in my shoulder.  _

 

_ Don’t give it too much thought, he thinks.  _

 

_ His favorite dancer should be here soon. Buck always knew how to move, how to make the floor come alive and laugh with his feet. Steve may’ve been a dead hoofer from the day he was born, but Bucky’s been spinnin’ across the music since before even that. _

 

_ Don’t give it too much thought, he thinks. _

 

_ He’s in a diner somewhere, and the food’s so pricey Bucky would’ve snapped his cap. He’s waiting for someone. Steve goes to check his watch when he realizes his eyes have been closed this whole time.  _

 

_ Don’t give it too much thought, he thinks. Just open them. _

 

***

 

Bucky’s about to ask Natasha what she means, what could possibly be next, when Stevie’s hand twitches in his own. 

 

“Like I said,” Natasha raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “It’s not over.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Nadine Roman", according to Marvel databases, is an alias that was used by the Black Widow. "Proctor" is James Barnes' sister Rebecca's married name. A bit of a stretch, but I didn't want to pull anything out of thin air.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!


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